


Smell of Ambrosia

by evening_spirit



Series: Unrelated BSG short stories [2]
Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-08
Updated: 2011-06-08
Packaged: 2017-10-20 06:19:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/209672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evening_spirit/pseuds/evening_spirit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story contains mature subject. It is however only hinted, and I – as an author – am not sure how obvious it is to the reader. Therefore some of you may be surprised with this rating and warning, and may not understand it. Others may consider the story disturbing or even repulsive. To me it was repulsive, but I couldn't get it out of my head, so I thought the only way to stop thinking about it was to share it with the world. It was written in 2006 but it's one of the stories I'm proud of, so I'm archiving it here as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smell of Ambrosia

**Smell of Ambrosia**

***

Ambrosia. Thick honey smell hangs in the air, and Lee's heart skips a beat. He closes the door with a soft click, not quite sure how he wants to proceed. Does he want to go to his room and lock himself in there? Or does he want to go, find her slouched on a sofa, or a kitchen table, smelling that sweetly, help her up, hear her saying "I love you, Lee. You're my knight in a shining armor"? He wants both. And he wants none.

So he stands in the hall, sniffing the sweet, honey smell of ambrosia.

Until he hears her call "That you, Lee?"

"Yeah."

"Why so late?"

"Not late, yet. Came back like I promised, right after the game." She won't know the difference anyway.

He goes into the kitchen, from where she called. She sits there, her temple on her palm, strands of golden hair running through her fingers, green eyes sparkling.

"Come to me!" she commands, smiling, extending her other hand to welcome him.

His body moves, walks to her. "Want me to help you upstairs?" he asks reservedly.

"You're so wonderful to me. What did I do to deserve you?"

He doesn't say anything, while she strokes his arm, pulls the strand of hair off his forehead, then pulls him close, smelling the thick smell of ambrosia, then kisses him softly on the cheek.

He wants to go away from there. And he wants to stay. He wants to disappear, or wake up, realizing this is just a dream, and he wants it to be real – her saying she loves him, her loving him really. He wants to die. And he wants her.

She turns her head away, her lips softly – accidentally – brushing his. She doesn't notice.

"I'm so tired."

"I know. I'll clean this up" he says, averting his eyes from her, looking at the dinner leftovers, a bottle of ambrosia – thick smell fills the air – one glass, traces of her lipstick on it, the other not even emptied. Lee wonders who was here... "C'mon. I'll help you up."

"I can do it myself!" She staggers only a little, puts her hand on his arm, and giggles suddenly. "I'm so clumsy sometimes."

"You're fine."

She keeps giggling when she puts her head in the crock of his neck, her hair smelling of ambrosia, but when she sniffles, and her shoulders are still trembling, he realizes that maybe she's crying. Lee hates when she's crying.

"Stop" he chokes out.

She looks up into his eyes, hers glinting with tears, strokes his face, gods she's so near he can feel her breath, smelling of ambrosia, tickling his cheeks, his lips.

"Don't fright" she whispers. "You're strong. You're stronger than that, Lee."

"Let's go." His throat is so tight, words barely get out. He encircles her with one arm, and supports her, while she sways towards the door, then up the stairs.

"You're my man, Lee." She stops in the middle of the climb, one step below him, staring up, her palms flat on his chest, caressing softly. And he finds himself in that horrible place again, where he wants to be both – nothingness and her lover.

And he hates himself for that thought.

Let's go – he wants to say and says nothing.

Let's go! – his mind screams and he stands there, magiced. By her green eyes, by her fair hair, her hands on his chest, her trembling lips. This is wrong, so wrong, but he knows, just knows, he's in her power now. Whatever she wants him to do, he'll do it

He hates evenings like that, filled with smell of ambrosia.

And he craves them…

Because even though he knows that tomorrow she'll complain again and talk about the only man she's ever loved, and accuse that man of stealing her life and her dreams, and then dumping her in the dust, and that he – Lee – will not matter again, at all… – he knows that today she's his. Today she loves  _him_. Today she's said "I love you, Lee" and she's going to say it again maybe once or twice before she falls asleep.

So warily he leans in to kiss her. On the forehead at first, and waits for her to kiss him back, because it really is her move, not his, she's in charge, not he, because he doesn't want that, and he wouldn't do it if it was his call, but he can't let this chance go by, so he does it. But she doesn't kiss him back. She shifts in his arms, and he opens his eyes, and sees her looking up, above his arm, and he knows very well who's standing there, even before she asks:

"Zak, sweetie, why aren't you sleeping yet?"

***

.end

 


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